


Dear Santa ... Signed SG-1

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letters to Santa written by various members of SG-1 at various stages in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Santa ... Signed SG-1

Dear Santa,

Please, please, please and a zillion times please, can you please bring me a Major Matt Mason doll? I think you lost my letter last year because you bought me a Teeny Tiny Tears instead and she sucks (she wets herself too and it’s all too icky for words). Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but Mark got a really great chemistry set last year and I’d rather have had that in my stocking than the girlie doll. Eeeuuw. Oh, and can you include a backpack thing that makes Major Matt Mason fly? Thank you.

When I’m older and a famous scientist, I’m going to invent a way for all the girls and boys to track you on your journey round the world.

Lots and lots of love

Sam Carter (who is a girl, not a boy, but who loves to wear pants and play with Mark’s toy guns, but you know that anyway because you’re Santa and you know everything).

xxxxx

 

Dear Santa Claus,

I find it most remarkable that there exists a Tau’ri tradition of writing letters to you, when you do not, in fact, exist. It is but one of the many strange customs I have encountered in my short time among this very young race.

Cassandra Fraiser insisted I write this. She is small but stubborn. Very like her mother.

I do not wish for any gifts during the forthcoming holiday season. But I would very much like the television network to produce another season of the lamentably canceled Poochinski. To quote Colonel O’Neill, “talking, crime-solving dogs forever.”

That is all I desire.

Teal’c of Chulak (latterly of Cheyenne Mountain)

 

Dear Santa,

Please make Colonel O’Neill stop glaring menacingly at me.

Your friend,

Jonas Quinn

 

 

Dear Santa,

Heaven only knows why I’m writing this but it appears to be customary on this odd little planet and I haven’t written a letter in forever (and I’ve just appropriated this rather nice platinum fountain pen from the General’s office ... what? He wasn’t using it) and really, when it comes to presents a girl should never sell herself short so ...  basically, when it comes down to it, I’ll take anything that is akin to treasure. You know, baubles, trinkets, jewels (oh, I adore jewels, the bigger and gaudier and more valuable the better), rare and precious minerals, gold (forget the frankincense and myrrh, whatever they are), silver, oooh, and darling little ingots are always welcome. It’s all grist to the mill. A girl never knows when she might need to exit this odd little planet in a hurry and without waiting for pay day. I promise I’ve been good. In fact, I’m _very_ good  ... just ask that rather nice SF who stands guard outside my quarters sometimes, or the cute little barista in the mall, or the muscley chap who delivered the SGC’s Christmas tree. Don’t ask Daniel. He’ll only lie.

Yours Vala Mal Doran

PS: What are calling birds?

Kiss kiss kiss

 

Yo Santa,

Cameron Mitchell here. Man, I am way past believing in you, but I think I’m kinda drunk and who the hell knows, this might just work ... Santa, I need to know how to get to second base with Amy Vandenberg. For reasons I fail to understand, she has managed to resist my awesome charms. Mostly. That quick fumble in the language lab don’t count ‘cus I was a goddamn dork with that bra strap. Come on man ... she’s hot. I need some help here.  Any advice you could share would be cool.

Gotta go . Think I’m gonna throw –

 

Dear Santa,

From one Da Man to another, I’d like to wish you good luck for the coming season. Boy are you gonna need it. I’ve just got back from the SGC Christmas party and everyone seems to have wish lists as long as your arm. Siler’s after a bigger wrench, Major Davis wants a promotion (yeah, _that’s_ gonna happen), Carter wants her own personal Asgard beam to get her to Washington to see Barrett more than once in a blue moon,  Teal’c’s asking for what he asks for every year, more Poochinsky (he’s obsessed), Vala’s after some furry, pink handcuffs (don’t ask) and Mitchell’s passed out over Landry’s desk, so god knows what he wants. Daniel informed me, somewhat snarkily I might add, that he’s asked you for a copy of “When Military Men Get Too Big For Their Combat Boots” by Mona Lott.

For the record, I do not moan. I believe in sharing the burdens of command with those whose opinions I trust and value. This does not equate to moaning. Whatever they might say.

Me? I want world peace, an end to famine and a box CD set of von Karajan conducting the Berlin Philharmonic in anything by Berlioz.

Forget the last, concentrate on the first two. The needs of the many ... yadda.

Yours

J O’Neill

 

 

Dear Santa,

This is not your average “Dear Santa” letter. I’m over 50, happily living with the love of my life, two dogs and several fish. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m feeling sentimental, which, ask anyone, is not like me. But I’ve been clearing out some stuff in preparation for a house move and I came across this in a shoe box:

 _Dear Santa,_

 _I don’t want anything for Christmas this year. My foster parents are making me write this because “you really should. It’ll cheer you up.” It hasn’t. It just want my parents back._

 _Regards,_

 _Daniel Jackson (aged eight)_

You didn’t bring me what I wanted that year, but, a long time later, I did get the family I craved.

I just thought you’d want to know.

Merry Christmas.

Regards,

Daniel.


End file.
